


spare key

by spells



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: BokuAka Week, BokuAka Week 2020, Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, MSBY Black Jackals - Freeform, Moving In Together, bokuto's life through the places he lives in, kinda loosely followed the prompt but its there i swear its there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:35:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25648162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spells/pseuds/spells
Summary: Here’s a quick track record of the places Bokuto has lived in, throughout his life.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 19
Kudos: 67
Collections: Bokuaka Week 2020





	spare key

**Author's Note:**

> title is very loosely inspired from just like heaven (2005) because for some reason my brain works like that. hope u enjoy this one

Here’s a quick track record of the places Bokuto has lived in, throughout his life.

He sees himself as a Tokyo boy, because he was born in Tokyo, but he wasn’t really raised there. At four months old, his mom moved back to the countryside to take care of his grandma, and so his whole family relocated (not that he remembers any of it). From their two year stay in the rural areas of the Tokushima prefecture, Bokuto mostly remembers the bright sun, the fields and plantations - although those might’ve been the memories of him when he’s older, when he’s fourteen and looks out car windows wanting to be bored -, and the deep, sultry smell of incense in his grandmother’s house. He doesn’t remember much about her, because she died a little while before his third birthday; when he thinks of her, he thinks of the one picture his mom keeps on their living room shelf, thinks of stacks of incense in convenience stores, thinks of sudachi flowers and thick fabric kimonos.

They stayed in his grandmother’s house a little longer, after she passed; Bokuto’s mom talks about those few months, sometimes, as the worst months of her life. She had just lost her mother, and everything around her only brought back memories, and it destroyed her. Bokuto doesn’t remember those months. He remembers being a little older, and hearing his mom on the phone, finally being able to sell her mother’s home. She’d been crying, then. Bokuto doesn’t remember if she cried much during those few lonely months they stayed there.

From ages three to seven, Bokuto goes back to Tokyo. From ages three to seven, Bokuto feels starry-eyed and tiny, tiny in the biggest city he can imagine. He gets mixed up between grown-ups’ knees in the subway, holds tight onto his dad’s hand as they walk through town, always pouts and gets himself some sort of candy in convenience stores. Bokuto doesn’t remember many specifics from this era, either, but he remembers feeling like he didn’t belong in the big city, in the metropolis. He remembers feeling country, getting picked on for the sprinkles of a dialect in his words, remembers talking to himself in front of the mirror, mirroring his parents’ fancy coworkers, friends, mirroring his parents’ words, saying  _ I can’t do this, honey,  _ and  _ this has never really worked, we shouldn’t put Koutarou through this, no one in this family will ever be happy. _

For a brief year, Bokuto moves to the city of Tokushima with his mom, feels like a misfit at school, doesn’t really make any friends. Then, a judge asks him where he thinks he’ll be happy, and he drowns himself in Tokyo, the city a freezing fluid in his lungs, ions in his bloodstream, synapses in his brain.

He goes through all of junior high living in a teeny tiny apartment in the city, just him and his dad, preparing bentos at eleven at night, doing homework with flashlights when the building power goes out, learning a considerable amount of the Tokyo subway grid by heart.

Then, his dad gets a promotion. And another. Then, his dad gets a girlfriend. A fiancée.

Bokuto moves just as he starts high school. The apartment is like no other he’s ever been in, crazy huge, just his bedroom almost half the size of their old flat. What he gets in exchange for all the extra space is a new mom, an absent dad, and friends from volleyball. He gets nothing but distant, weekly messages with his actual mom, who’s always asking when he’ll come by and stay with her for a while; gets nothing but sweet post-it notes inside the bathroom cabinets from his dad, puns on the multivitamin label, a caricature on the mirror because his dad dreamt of being a cartoonist when he was young, before his mom, before Bokuto himself; gets home-cooked meals, soft smiles, pats on the head from his stepmom, gets good luck wishes, gets a  _ come home safe _ , gets a  _ don’t stay out late _ . He gets light punches on the arm, yell-shaped incentives, and  _ nice kill  _ from his teammates, gets occasional parties at someone’s house when parents are away, gets company in the subway after practice. He gets a home, and he belongs. He lies in bed, in the dark, and smiles until he falls asleep.

He turns sixteen, and his dad sits at the kitchen table with him until four in the morning. His dad sips on a beer, wearing a hoodie Bokuto hadn’t seen in years, and looking tired but happy. Bokuto rolls a volleyball in his lap, feeling anxious, feeling excited. He hasn’t had a one-on-one with his dad, not like this, in… Forever. He doesn’t think they’ve ever sat down like this, same eye level, same understanding of each other, the gap between them not much more than physical space, maybe age.

“Are you happy, dad?” Bokuto asks, genuine curiosity, at first unable to look him in the eye but raising his head to do so after a bout of silence.

“Yeah,” his dad sighs, frowns, smiles. “I am.”

“Even with all the work? The late nights, the overtime, everything?”

“Koutarou…” He sets the beer bottle on the table, and Bokuto tenses up, just slightly. He thinks of when his dad last called him anything but ‘son’, but ‘Kou’. He sounds stern, serious, and Bokuto wonders if turning 16 actually does change his life like all the western movies said. “You know I do what I love, right?” Bokuto nods. “Remember when it was just the two of us, back in the flea flat, in the beginning?” Bokuto nods, squeezes the volleyball until the tips of his fingernails turn white. His dad laughs, “That was barely a couple of years ago, but it feels like another life…” He takes a sip of his beer, licks it off his bottom lip, and traces the rim of the bottle with his thumb. “I was already chasing my dream. I was almost forty and living the scrappiest life I had ever lived, scrappier than uni. You must see that, at least now. We were so broke, Kou… I wouldn’t have kept going at that job, wouldn’t have kept going at this company, if it wasn’t making me happy. You know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t.”

“I know, just…”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I could live your life, dad. I don’t think I could… I don’t know. Work nine to five, answer to some unfair boss, sit all day. I barely know how I’m gonna manage college lectures!”

His dad laughs, warm, weak. He smiles, but there are bags under his eyes. He might be happy, but he’s so tired. “I’m happy the way I am, but I know you wouldn’t be, Kou. I know you, remember? I was there for your conception, for all the nine months, for your birth-”

“I get it, I get it,” Bokuto smiles, rubs his eye. He checks the clock on the microwave, and realises it’s two in the morning. They’ve mostly been sitting here, in silence, talking about unimportant things, small talk, life updates. How is it that empty time goes by faster than time fulfilled?

“It’s important, though,” his dad sits up straight, blinks slowly, and Bokuto wonders if he’s drunk, can’t remember what number beer bottle he’s at, “that you find someone… Someone who can take you however you are, however you come. Your mother and I… She used to be more like you. Full of energy, couldn’t sit still. Her energy filled me up, like a… like a river to a lake. But she settled. And in the end, we were both running out of energy, without any source to fill us up. And two drained people compete over even a teardrop.”

Bokuto loosens his hands, then squeezes them into fists. The volleyball drops mutely to the floor, rolling to his father’s bare feet.

“Natsumi and I… Natsumi’s the spring, and I’m the river. She makes me want to run endlessly. I didn’t… Didn’t even think it was possible, you know? For me to flow freely like she lets me. She understands. Your mother… She tried to understand, she really did. But we didn’t go together. Together, we were barren. Nothing but dry, cracked mud.”

Bokuto feels like he needs a beer. He runs a hand through his hair, lets it drop to his lap, and doesn’t know what else to do with it. The more his dad talks, the more lost he feels. The more helpless.

“Dad, it took you forty years to find Natsumi. What am I supposed to do?”

“Just you wait, Kou.” He reaches across the table and ruffles his son’s hair, and Bokuto leans into the touch. “Life may throw your Natsumi in your path before you even think you need her.”

Bokuto doesn’t pay much attention to his kouhai in the volleyball team. That is, until he learns that he’s the reason Akaashi Keiji decided to come to Fukurodani.

Akaashi is not someone Bokuto would expect to be inspired by him but hey, he’s not complaining; he’ll take any fans he’s got. Akaashi is, in fact, possibly the most different person to himself that he’s ever met. He’s quiet, nimble, shy, discreet. In the beginning, Bokuto thinks Akaashi looks up to him in the hopes of being more outgoing, being cooler, being more assertive. Then, Akaashi lays it straight onto him, bluntly tells him that he has no right to gloat about anything when he’s just as good as any of their teammates, analyses him to the bone, and spot on. Lucky for Bokuto, Konoha’s the only one near enough to hear him be murdered in scary amounts of detail, but even that single laugh is enough to break him into even more pieces.

By the time they’re done with practice, his senpai make fun of him for being cocky, and Bokuto can’t even get a damn ball in the air. He feels so dejected that he sits on the sidelines with Yukie, she nudges him and tells him jokes, but even that still barely have any effect on lifting his spirits. He sits down in the club room, takes off his gym shirt and scratches his head, feeling weirdly lost. He went from having an admirer to being crumbled into pieces so fast, it gave him whiplash.

“Bokuto-san?”

Akaashi comes to him after everyone else has left, because Bokuto stays there longer, sitting, thinking, getting himself together. Bokuto wonders if Akaashi was waiting outside the club room, in the hallway. He wonders if he became impatient, and walked back inside.

Bokuto stands, pulls on a clean shirt, and smiles, even if faintly. “Hey, Akaashi-kun.”

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Akaashi says, and his eyes are so serious, staring dead into Bokuto’s, that it’s almost scary. Instead, it’s reassuring. It’s sweet. Because his gaze is unwavering, but Bokuto can read all the worry in between the lines. He knows Akaashi means it. “I swear I meant well. All I meant was-”

“It’s fine, Akaashi-kun,” Bokuto says, shakes his head, even if it’s really not.

“It’s not, though.” Akaashi frowns, and looks to the ground. For some reason, Bokuto feels like taking a step closer, looking at him with more attention, hearing his words better. He doesn’t, but he can feel it in his gut, an almost magnetism- “I didn’t word myself properly. I meant that you should be proud of your skills once you’ve worked hard and become the best. When you’re not pushing yourself to your limits, why pretend to be overconfident?”

Bokuto’s heart drops to the floor, and flies back into place. Christ, he feels so seen, so vulnerable. He feels transparent, his skin like plastic-wrap, like glass, like crystal, fragile and see-through. He feels out in the open, for anyone to read. He feels like Akaashi got the manual for his working parts, and he didn’t.

Akaashi doesn’t stop there, though.

“Your passion is why I chose to come here. The way you play with a huge smile on your face, because you love what you’re doing. And if you’re not truly living for the court, giving 120% of yourself out there because you can’t imagine anything else, it’s kind of like… Like it’s all a lie. I don’t want it to be. You shouldn’t, either.”

Bokuto concludes, he’s made of diamonds. Transparent, sure, but unbreakable.

Thank God, Akaashi doesn’t stop. Bokuto finishes getting dressed, and they walk to the train station just like that, talking about volleyball and passions and their middle school teams. Bokuto loves to hear Akaashi talk; his words are so simple, but so true, so honest. Bokuto asks him questions, because he wants to know him better. Bokuto can’t stop looking at him as he talks, can’t help leaning closer, can’t help tilting his head to hear him better, to make better sense of his words.

Akaashi gets off a few stations before Bokuto does. Bokuto waves, and smiles, and Akaashi apologises one last time.

“Don’t worry, Akaashi!” (They barely talked for an hour, and Bokuto already fell into a comfort zone of dropping the honorific entirely. Akaashi didn’t seem to mind. He still kept the -san in his own words, though.) “I’m all better now. Guess you just have to be my friend for us to be even,” Bokuto says, and winks.

Akaashi smiles. Bokuto stops dead in his tracks, a deer in the headlights. He feels his eyes go wide, and his heart start pumping.

The train doors close in front of him. He sits back down, but his throat feels tight against his collar, the train feels small and cramped, the people around him feel too close and too foreign. He feels dizzy, can barely swallow. He feels a rush underneath his skin, like pins and needles with a shiver, like there’s energy stocked in his dermis.

_ She makes me want to run endlessly. _

Bokuto could run to Tokushima and back, just with the power of a single Akaashi smile. He wonders what it must be like for his dad to be in love, if it feels like this. He wonders how is it that his dad has never combusted.

The first time Akaashi comes over to his flat, Bokuto feels shaky, feels uncertain, feels like an earthquake. Akaashi follows him inside, hand in his, greets his stepmom politely, kindly (bowing!), looks around carefully until they’re in Bokuto’s room, closed doors, backpacks on the floor.

“Your place is so nice, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, quietly, and sits down softly on Bokuto’s bed. Bokuto wants to jump, wants to dance, wants to run. In his head, he’s soaring high, high above the clouds, above the ozone layer. He sits beside Akaashi, bouncing his foot, hesitant.

“Yeah?”

Akaashi presses his lips together, then turns to look at him, their faces inches apart. He has that soft look in his eyes. That look in his eyes, the look he gives Bokuto when he’s being silly, but he finds it cute; the look he gives Bokuto when he’s been procrastinating for too long, pretending to study but just doodling dogs in the notebook margins; the look he gives Bokuto when they’re sitting next to each other in Akaashi’s first-year classroom during lunch, watching him eat his omurice slowly, and asking for a piece with nothing but his eyes. “Yeah.”

(Bokuto waited two weeks after that first day to ask Akaashi out. He never felt so self-aware as he did during those weeks, every cubic inch of air between him and Akaashi sending small shocks up his arms, every word of Akaashi’s instigating another thousand in Bokuto’s brain.

They were in the train together, one Friday evening, and Bokuto got off at Akaashi’s station with him. Walked him home, changing the subject every time he asked where he was going. It was when he said his house was a few blocks away that Bokuto stopped, stood still, in the middle of the road. Akaashi had frowned, asked  _ what’s up, Bokuto-san, are you okay, is something wrong? _

_ “Please go out with me, Akaashi-kun.” _

Akaashi’s shy, coy little smile, the way he breathed out an  _ okay, yeah  _ instead of saying it out loud, dear Christ. Bokuto couldn’t stand still for the entire weekend. He felt like there was an entire disco in his head.)

Bokuto kisses him, carefully, and pulls away. He sighs and intertwines his fingers with Akaashi’s, playing with them, gently, slowly.

“One day, our place will be even nicer.” He doesn’t look away from Akaashi’s face, inspects his reaction. Akaashi’s eyes crinkle, smiling, even if his face doesn’t change much. Bokuto’s learned to notice.

“Yeah,” Akaashi says again, and leans his forehead against Bokuto’s shoulder to hide his face.

Bokuto doesn’t feel like ending things when he gets invited to play U21 for the MSBY Black Jackals. He watches Akaashi’s hair flutter when he breathes, chin propped on top of his head, a vague white light coming from the street outside, and can’t imagine being away from him. He doesn’t feel like doing anything but staying with him like this, in bed, cuddling, every day. He doesn’t feel like going anywhere.

Akaashi cries. Yeah, he, um, cries when Bokuto talks to him about it. So suddenly, too; Bokuto blinks, and there’s already a tear track down Akaashi’s cheek, and he looks so hurt that Bokuto would prefer to die.

“It’s okay,” Akaashi says, his expression nothing of the calm and collected front he usually puts up. Still, he doesn’t dissolve into pieces, doesn’t sob and whimper. He cries, lower lip wobbling, eyebrows furrowed. He tries to smile, but it dissipates within a second. Bokuto can’t move. “We’ll… We’ll, um,” he cleans his throat, snorts, wipes his cheek with his sweater sleeve. “We’ll-”

Bokuto hugs him, and Akaashi doesn’t move. He’s stiff as a board. Then he whispers, “Koutarou…”, and Bokuto knows they’re both helpless.

They spend that whole afternoon making plans. Discussing train fares, discussing holiday trips, discussing jobs and college courses and family’s wishes. They talk about it until they can’t stand to talk about it, and the subject naturally fluctuates to the coming spring, to a trip they want to take to the beach, to the publishing house in Shimokita that Akaashi’s trying to get an internship at.

In the end, Bokuto moves to Osaka. In the end, they see each other biweekly, partly sponsored by Bokuto’s dad -  _ you were happy before, Kou, but what this boy does to you…  _ \- and Akaashi’s job’s train pass. In the end, they talk for hours every day, phone calls until they both know it’s inhumane to stay up any further and wake up early in the morning, pictures in their message log of interior design, of décor, of buildings from Osaka Google Street View or from Bokuto’s way to work.

“You’ve been watching too many western films,” Akaashi murmurs one night, his consonants popping and hissing from being too close to the phone mic, voice quiet and soft because it’s one in the morning. “We’re not gonna have a rooftop garden. We’ll probably barely have access to the roof.”

“Depends on the apartment we get, Akaashi…”

“Depends on what we can afford. A junior volleyball player and a college student, really?”

“Doesn’t have to be our first flat…”

In the end, Akaashi sends him a screenshot of an email from Osaka University, and Bokuto gets on a train to Tokyo before he even reads it. He knocks on Akaashi’s door before he tells him he’s coming, and holds him up in the air before Akaashi finishes saying his name.

Bokuto kisses him, “I’m stealing you away now.”

Akaashi kisses him back. “I love you. I missed you.”

“I love you,” Bokuto sets him down, and kisses him again. “I love you.”

Kuroo comes with them in the moving truck because he argues he’s their strongest friend. When they get to Osaka, all of Bokuto’s boxes already in the apartment upstairs, he and Bokuto arm wrestle on top of one of the boxes, and it folds under their elbows. Bokuto points at the indentation and says that it’s bigger on his side, which points to him being stronger, and Kuroo laughs like the damn evil hyena that he is. Akaashi kicks Bokuto gently, and nods to the stairs, two boxes of clothes in his arms.

Bokuto kisses him before going. Bokuto smiles and runs down the stairs three steps at a time, because he’s happy. Because they’re together again, because he doesn’t have to deal with train fares any longer, because their apartment building has an accessible roof. Plenty of reasons to be happy, he thinks.

The moving truck rental guys come to take the truck away, and Kuroo sleeps in the inch-thick futon of their guest bedroom after the three of them play cards in the empty living room. Bokuto and Akaashi go up to the roof and stretch out a blanket to look at the stars, because at least the sky is clearer than Tokyo, even if not as starry as in Tokushima.

“I can hear your heart,” Akaashi says, quietly. His ear’s against Bokuto’s chest, the top of his head supported by Bokuto’s arm.

“Mm? What does it say?”

“It says-”

Bokuto interrupts him, playing the spokesperson for his own heart. “Can’t wait to make a rooftop garden in our shiny new roof. To think that our owner thought a rooftop garden was unachievable! Blasphemy!”

Akaashi laughs, bubbly, warm and golden to his fingertips. He turns his head and looks up into Bokuto’s eyes. “Your owner? Are you a dog?”

“Nope,” Bokuto grins, and kisses Akaashi’s forehead. He closes his eyes at the contact, shifts a little closer to Bokuto, hums so very softly. “Just all yours, baby.”

“Can’t believe I fell for that,” Akaashi whispers, his words more vividly shapes against the fabric of Bokuto’s clothing than sounds in the air.

“What? For me or the pun?”

“Both, Kou.” He kisses him, stretching out his neck to reach his lips. Bokuto puts his free hand on his lower back and supports him, pulls him closer. Akaashi touches his knee to Bokuto’s, curls his leg between his. “Though falling for you was even easier.”

“Mhm, I like it when you talk like this. All sweet and romance-y. Shameless.”

Akaashi laughs against Bokuto’s mouth, and pulls away to giggle comfortably. When he looks back up at him, Bokuto can see he’s got that look in his eyes…

Here’s a quick track record of the places Bokuto has lived in, throughout his life.

He’s born in Tokyo, but lives with his grandmother in rural Tokushima, hiding between sudachi trees and playing in the tall grass. He trips over the hem of his kimono during festivals, jumps from one rain puddle to the next, breaks incense sticks until his grandmother takes them away and boops his nose, frowning, “Bad Kou. Very bad Kou.”

He moves back to Tokyo just to have a taste of the big city. He moves back to Tokyo to stand in line at American fast food chains, moves back to Tokyo to count on his fingers the number of patterned ties he sees in the subway, moves back to Tokyo to waddle down streets with his mom while his dad works all day.

His brief year in Tokushima, the city, is nearly dismissable. His brief year in Tokushima is the loneliest he gets his whole life; his mom gets a draining desk job, his life gets a friends-less downgrade, and he can’t stand it anymore.

First and foremost, Bokuto’s from Tokyo. Bokuto moves into the flea flat in Nakano, and it’s fun; it’s fun to run between grocery store aisles looking for sales and the cheapest prices, it’s fun to race his dad down the apartment building stairs, it’s fun to hang clothes to dry in the clotheslines on the bedroom ceiling.

It’s also fun to make high school friends and throw a party in the new apartment, ceilings low but rooms spacious like hell. It’s fun to go from one side of his room to another in a desk chair, kicking impulse from the walls. It’s fun, it’s nice, when he has a nuclear family that works, a happy life, and God, it’s so much more than nice when he has a boyfriend he feels like he could live his whole life next to. It’s so much more than nice to have his dad smile and say,  _ of course it’s fine _ , have his dad smile when he meets Akaashi, have his dad smile and give him the most important thumbs-up of his life when Akaashi leaves the room. It’s so much more than nice to hold him, to kiss him, to touch him. It’s so much more than nice to make all his memories in this bedroom, to spend his time in it, to waste away entire afternoons in it. It’s nice, surprisingly, so much more than nice, even to cry in this God-forsaken bedroom; because later, he looks at the room one last time, and it’s fulfillment, nostalgia, homesickness that overwhelm him, all at once. In this room, he didn’t miss out on anything. He felt it all.

He only rents a room when he goes to Osaka; one, because he doesn’t know anyone to be roommates, two, because he can’t afford to live alone, and three, because he crosses his fingers and hopes this isn’t permanent. He doesn’t just cross his fingers, actually. He calls Akaashi and says  _ can’t wait to have you here with me _ , calls Akaashi and says  _ I truly think you’ll love the city _ , calls Akaashi and says  _ I love you, I love you, I love you.  _ (Calls Akaashi and complains that his landlord is the hardest person to reach Bokuto has ever met, calls Akaashi and talks about how he just spent three hours browsing interior and exterior design ideas online, calls Akaashi and asks him about his favourite plants, because he feels a true connection to house plants, little ornamental flower pots and even gardens of any size.)

He doesn’t make a garden on the roof of his and Akaashi’s apartment building, but makes a lounge crawling with plants, from little bushes to nearly-trees and even herbs and spices in pretty pots, with the help of one of the other residents, an elderly woman whose late husband was a florist. He spends his free time, at least when Akaashi isn’t around, busy with work or school, in her flat, or with her on the rooftop; she talks to him about the love of her life, talks to him about plants, talks to him about food, and life, and learning.

He fills the garden with fairy lights and brings Akaashi up to the roof one night, a candle-lit dinner and a bottle of wine waiting for them. Akaashi’s eyes shine indigo, freckled with light, pretty and deep blue like the sky above. When they’re down to the last pour of the wine, Bokuto realises he’s home. Not in Tokyo, not even in his apartment. He realises that he was wrong, at sixteen, and his home wasn’t the apartment he knew he could come back to, home wasn’t the feeling of security and belonging.

Home’s the feeling in his stomach when he lies in bed after an exhausting day, but feels fulfilled, and Akaashi nudges his shoulder with his nose, so that he’ll come closer. Home’s walking through Osaka and seeing tiny things that he wants to tell Akaashi about, tiny things that remind him of growing up, tiny things that make him feel bursts of joy. Home’s listening to classical music with Ouchi-san on the roof, as she tells him about her wedding day. Home’s cooking a new recipe and hearing Akaashi sneak into the kitchen when he arrives home from uni, kissing him with lips of salt and spice.

Home’s the way Akaashi makes him feel warmer even if he’s ten feet away. Home’s the smell of their fabric softener, the same one Akaashi’s mom used when they were in high school. Home’s bubble baths, and their puppy, and late nights with sake and flushed faces. Home’s knowing each other inside and out, home’s never growing tired of each other, home’s slow summer mornings and gloomy evenings during fall. Home’s feeling like being around Akaashi makes him ready to do anything. Home’s the freedom that being tied to Akaashi gives him.

Bokuto calls his dad, one night, and tells him he gets it. Tells him he was right, all along. Tells him he had always known Akaashi was his Natsumi, but he had never realised what it meant. Had never noticed that everything was so much simpler than he thought. Tells him thank you, thank you, thank you. Tells him he misses him, tells him he loves him.

He climbs back into bed, and Akaashi moans, frowns. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere,” Bokuto whispers, and kisses the top of his head. He sighs, and closes his eyes. It’s sappy, but he’s okay with it. It’s corny, but he’s comfortable, and who cares?

No matter where he goes, where he moves, where he lives. From now on, he’ll always be home.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! hope you liked this as much as i enjoyed writing it. leave a comment, a kudo, a bookmark, and make me the happiest boy on earth. also available on twitter @kenhinabot for more bokuaka thoughts, friendship or throwing down the government


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